


off the radar & into harm's way

by ferrassie



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:37:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferrassie/pseuds/ferrassie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Mario maybe-kind of-sort of acquires a superpower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	off the radar & into harm's way

He wakes up sweating. His throat's dry and he's coughing. Keeled over his own legs as his body racks. A hand settles on his shoulder. It's cold, a shock. 

Nuri's voice comes out of the darkness. "Hey, are you okay?" His hand drops down lower. "You feel really hot."

Mario wipes at his mouth, swallows. The fabric around him is wet. He can see the look of worry on Nuri's face even in the dimness. Freaked out. Nuri's freaked out. He feels his own forehead.

Mario gets out of bed, cringing when the sheets stick to his legs. "I don't know," he says. "I'm gonna go get a glass of water." He's not feverish or sick to his stomach, just hot. Needs to cool down. A desperate itch.

He drinks quickly. Too fast. A glass sound clicks through the kitchen. Mario curves his face underneath the tap. Water across his cheek, down his jaw and neck. He keeps his hands on either side of the sink. Mario can't bring himself to pull away from the coolness of the water and he pushes that worry away when he catches a glimpse of the hallway, the front door. 

Outside.

He manoeuvres clumsily down the front stairs. Feels rock and grass under his feet. His entire body collapses down against it, all covered in night-dew. _Cold_ soaks through the back of Mario's shirt and it feels good. He takes a deep breath. Steady until he's sure that it's gone. He's fine. He's okay. 

He takes a glass of water back upstairs with him. Just in case.

Nuri's sitting on the floor. Blankets and pillows around him. He studies Mario briefly and then his face softens. "Your bed's kind of gross. You look way better, though."

Mario nods. "Yeah, I feel better." He sits down beside Nuri. Everything free of salt and sweat. He pulls his shirt off and throws it towards the bed. "Thanks," he says, gesturing around them. "And sorry."

Nuri shrugs. "No problem." He lies down and Mario does, too. Cool thoughts. Measured breaths. Nuri rolls onto his side, facing away from him. Mario looks up at the ceiling before shifting onto his side, too. He finds himself looking at the lines of Nuri's back, wanting to touch. 

He doesn't know what to think about that, either.

 

Nuri's face is close to his. Just a blanket between them. Mario moves back, far enough that he can't hear him breathing softly. He reaches out towards the bed. The sheets are dry. And the mattress. His eyebrows dip in confusion. His shirt's dry, too, when he picks it up.

He can hear Nuri's breath hitch.

 

"Mom, I think I've got the flu," Mario says over breakfast. His cereal bowl and spoon. She doesn't turn away from the sink. Her _explain_ cue. "I woke up last night covered in sweat." Spoon caught under his tongue.

She makes a noise. "Sure it wasn't a nightmare?"

"No," he shakes his head. "Like, I didn't feel good."

She puts her hand to his forehead. Her mouth curls up. Doubt.

"You feel fine."

That's really not what he wanted to hear.

 

Nuri sits beside him on the couch. Quiet and intense. They watch Dortmund play the ball among themselves. Forward. He has cologne on and Mario can smell it from where he's sitting. Warm and sharp. It makes him feel dizzy and his skin starts to itch. It's in his shoulders, climbing down his arms and his spine. He balls his hands into fists. Nuri's distracted by the match. Mario takes deep breaths as a feeling of too-hot starts to build. Sweat. He flexes and un-flexes his fingers and tries to relax. 

Nuri makes a noise when the ball goes past the post. His arm flies out and he grabs Mario's hand, accidental, and then he's swearing and pulling away from him. Hurt in his eyes. Mario doesn't like it. Didn't like the jolt that flared up his arm when Nuri squeezed. But he didn't want to let go.

"What's…" Nuri starts, lost.

Mario swallows. "I don't know," he whispers. He wants to pull off his skin. "Just…" and he reaches for Nuri's hand again. A flash goes up his arm and climbs down his back. It makes the hot disappear from his body, but only for a moment.

Nuri makes a pained noise and tries to pull away, still caught in Mario's grip. Pure hurt etched across his face. Mario looks down. Horrified when he realises that Nuri's hand (his knuckles and fingers) is bright pink. 

A burn. He's burning him. 

Mario lets go. Apology already on his tongue. Nuri just looks scared. "Oh, god…" 

He looks down at his own hands. Pale and white. The hot feeling subsiding. "We should. We should run cold water over that." Nuri follows him after a minute. Hangs back. Mouth open. He turns the water on. He lets Nuri do it. Watching carefully. Bites his lip. 

He keeps his hands to himself.

 

He fills up the bathroom sink with cold, cold water. Tray of ice cubes empty, already cracked in, by his feet. Mario pushes back the sleeves of his shirt and breaks the water's surface with the palms of his hands. He sucks in a breath.

He keeps them there until it hurts to bend his fingers. Skin tinged light, light blue. Tears in the corners of his eyes. 

 

_come over tonite._

Mario blinks down at his phone. It hasn't necessarily been weird between them since. Nuri was fine. Assured him of that again and again, but it hasn't been the same. Not really. Mario wipes at the screen, thumb pulling over the words. He doesn't know what to expect. 

_yeah. what time?_

Waits with his phone between his thighs. Looks up and feels the wind across his face. Something flutters in his chest when Nuri texts back.

_whenever._

 

It's Nuri who's the one saying, "I'm sorry." He's the one moving away from Mario, tripping over his own feet. Shoes left on the floor. Looking nervous. "Mario, I'm…" His hand is still discoloured, finely, in places. 

Mario shakes his head. "No, it's okay." He licks his lips, across where Nuri kissed him. "Come here," and he holds his hands out towards him. 

Nuri comes towards him, slowly. Hands resting unsurely on his waist. Cool. They look at each other for a long moment. He presses his mouth to Nuri's a little too quickly. Fingers already in Nuri's hair. The feel of Nuri's almost-stubble. The low sound he makes when Mario climbs clumsily (all knees) into his lap. The bed soft and forgiving underneath them. He's the good kind of too-warm. Wound-up because of Nuri. 

He doesn't let himself think about it coming back. He doesn't, not with Nuri's hand spread out underneath his t-shirt. His own on the couch. He doesn't let himself think about where this is going.

 

"Mario," Nuri says. Pushing at him. "Let go, please." His voice dry and cracked and urgent. "Please."

He blinks, barely conscious. The heat's already there. His arm is lying heavily across Nuri's chest and he gets it. Moves back across pillows and sheets and puts distance between them (too much for Nuri, not enough for him).

There's a thick line of red across Nuri's ribs. Mario opens the window as Nuri feels across the band. Winces and hisses as he goes. Morning air crawling over him. Body over the ledge.

"It doesn't hurt as much this time," Nuri says. Maybe a little curiously, even. Mario leans farther out the window. Shirtless and holding himself up, just in his boxers. "I don't get it."

Mario closes the window after a few moments. "What?" he whispers, looking down at where his hands were. Two handprints – singed white wood – right where he had them. "God…" It makes sense. Complete sense.

"What?" Nuri asks. "Oh." He traces around the right hand before pressing down on it, fitting his hand to Mario's. "It's still kind of warm." Pink band stretching with him.

 

Another handprint, the ghost of one, on his homework. His required reading. He looks at it with something like hate, like _stop_ sparking inside of him. Mario balls his fists in the sleeves of his hoodie and doesn't look down when he smells smoke.

 

Nuri takes him to an abandoned football pitch. There are no kids out in five-a-sides, nobody with a ball. Mario keeps his hands in his pockets and his shoulders up against the chill. He waits for Nuri to say something. To do something.

"Well," he says, laughing awkwardly, "Let's see it." Mario looks at him. Nuri gently takes Mario's hands out of his pockets. He leaves them there, suspended in the air between them.

"I can't control it," Mario says. "It just happens." He drops his hands to his sides. 

"What if you could, though? It's like something out of the comics. You could start fires." Nuri bites his lip. "I know. It sounds stupid." Hopeful look still splashed across his face.

He closes his eyes, thinking about the prints on the window. On Nuri's skin. "Okay," Mario says. And: "It's not stupid."

Nuri kisses the corner of his mouth. Luck. "Over there, then."

Mario stands in the corner of the pitch. Nuri sits on the touchline. White chalk underneath his sneakers. His fingernails bite into his palms. He thinks about it. Temperatures. Can't control it. 

When the first wave of heat hits him, he tears his coat off and kicks his shoes aside. Lies down on the grass. Feels like ice. Nuri counts back from fifty with him. Twice. Three times.

The next time is better. He builds it up and manages to will the feeling gone after a long while in the wind. Coat on. Nuri watches him with a smile, scarf tucked up around his neck.

They keep doing it until Mario's alternating hot and cold more readily. It's not perfect, but he feels like he was prepared for that. Doesn't feel like he has to worry. Doesn't have to worry about hurting anyone. He knows that it's probably a false sense of security, anyways.

When they're done, Nuri pulls him down on top of him. Kissing the curve of his jaw and his smile. Shirts pushed up uncomfortably. Legs tangled.

It's not bad. It's not good. Feels too open. Unsure. Nuri doesn't.

 

He sleeps well that night. Exhaustion thick down to his toes. Window open and blessedly cool. 

 

"I want to try something."

Nuri pauses the game. Open cans of soda and popcorn bowls on either side of them. Sharing a blanket. Nuri puts his controller down. Nesting between his knees.

"No, not right now. I meant later. Sorry." He knows he's blushing, but he's hoping that the glare of the television hides it. Lights out.

Nuri scoffs. He curls into Mario, fingers on his sides. "Now you have to tell me." He experimentally jabs his fingers in. Mario twitches against him. "C'mon." 

Mario coughs, trying to hide his breathlessness. "Fine." He waits until Nuri lets go, until his hands are to himself. He's smirking. Mario ignores it.

"You know the window?" He feels apologetically across the back of Nuri's hand. "I was thinking that maybe it'd be possible for me to like, pass that along. To another person, maybe. Without burning them." 

Nuri looks at Mario and then down at his hands. A beat and a beat. "I think you could." Confident line of his back. "But I don't think that you should try it. Well, not yet." Nuri brushes his hand over Mario's cheek. Eyelashes curled down. "I think you could, though."

Mario knows that he means it.

 

Down on the floor. Nuri's bedroom. Carpet rough against his back. Nuri pushes up his shirt, getting a hold of the hem to pull it off. He follows Nuri's mouth when he moves to throw his shirt aside. Fingertips sliding across the dips at the base of Nuri's spine.

He likes this. He likes Nuri's mouth on his collarbone and his hands resting where Mario's jeans and his skin meet. Nuri doesn't go any farther than his waistband, but he still arches up into where he's touching him. Their legs slotted together. Completely distracted.

He doesn't catch the way Nuri stops for one, small moment; body strung tight. How hot his skin gets and how he relaxes completely. It's almost nothing, but he's quiet and contented.

Mario stops. "What was that?"

Nuri looks down at him. Brings Mario back into focus. He smiles brightly. "You can."

"I can what?" Hands still pressed flat to Nuri's back.

Nuri pushes damp strands of hair away from Mario's forehead. "Pass along heat."

 

It feels like a win, unexpected.

 

The water from the shower makes their fingers slip apart. Water curling down Nuri's cheek. They're still in their boxers. It's so, so cold. "You always make this so complicated," Mario says.

Nuri shrugs, but he doesn't let go. "It's easier this way, probably." Fingers cold between Mario's. "Well, go on. Let's see if this works."

Mario nods, closing his eyes. He locks their hands together, grip tight. Nuri's tense. His thumbs wind in circles over Nuri's knuckles. He concentrates, forcing all the energy down his arms. Nuri shivers.

"Nothing yet."

Feels the heat passing the curve of his elbows and down the straight of his forearms and into his hands. Nuri makes a noise.

Little by little, Nuri's hold relaxes in his. Until there are no water droplets pressed between their skin. When Mario opens his eyes, Nuri's flushed. Face dry and smooth. Water dripping over his shoulders. Eerie.

 

He wakes up early in the morning, breathing heavily. He has to swallow down the heat rising in his throat. Mario tries to concentrate, but it's not working. Not for very long, anyways. He reaches for the water on the nightstand – his new habit.

It doesn't help. Evaporating. There's the smell of char.

Mario's used to letting go of things quickly, now. Sheets dropped down beside him. Crumpled and gray-black. He holds his hands out in front of him. Coolness starts to pulse throughout his body, but he can barely stand the pressure (the temperature) building in his palms.

It happens and Mario's not ready for it. His hands glow, they burn. Bright red and orange, filling his bedroom with light. He watches as the flames curl around the tips of his fingers. It subsides as the licks heighten and fall. 

Faint smoke left behind. Mario keeps his hands out there, in that space.

 

"I want to see."

Mario looks away, twisting his hands behind his back. Nuri's fingers track along his hairline and over the curve of his ear. 

"I don't know." He shrugs. "I couldn't actually feel anything while it was happening."

"You can learn, right? You did before." Nuri puts his hands on Mario's wrists, brings them around front. "C'mon, just try it." Nuri's skin is soft against his. "I can help."

Mario shakes his head. "Not right now." 

 

The rain's coming down in long stretches. Loud and unrelenting. The power's out. They stand in Nuri's living room, in front of the window, and watch. Mario's head on Nuri's shoulder. The sky cracks with lightning. Nuri jumps.

"What?" Mario laughs. "You're afraid of storms?" Nuri shoves at him, but he's smiling. Embarrassed, but still.

"I just wasn't expecting it, you know?" He moves closer to the window. Everything is slick and shiny in the dark. Another branch of lightning. Nuri's fingers tighten in his shirt.

He doesn't realise how hot he's gotten until Nuri reaches for him. Hissing noise. "I thought you were getting better at that." He looks confused. Mario doesn't blame him. He knows what it is and he knows he can't control whatever _this_ is. Not completely, anyways.

"Uh, stand back." 

Nuri nods, taking a few steps away. Mario puts his arms out, straight out. The farther away the better. Rain continues to fall outside. He feels it. The heat diffuses around them. It's the same feeling, but so, so different now that Mario knows where this is going.

Nuri's eyes widen with the flash. Everything around them brightens fast in shades. Nuri has himself up against the wall, but he's still leaning towards Mario. Up until the next wave rushes in, rolling underneath his skin and out. The fire's not just curling over his hands, but forming in the space between them. Growing and growing. Play of light across Nuri's face.

"Mario," and he can barely hear it, muted by the static-crackle.

He doesn't know how to deal with this. The adrenaline pumping through his body; making it worse. He tries to breathe, but he can't. Mario can't calm down. Panic showing in every line of his body.

"Mario," 

It's louder, definitely. Nuri sounds vulnerable. "Outside. The rain." Hands gesturing sharp and quick. "Go," he says, "go."

More heat rips through his hands. He can feel it fighting with him. Paralyzed. He stares, uselessly, at Nuri.

"Mario!" Nuri yells. He pushes off the wall as Mario's hands come apart.

He doesn't hear it.

 

He wakes up on cement. Skin wet with rain. Completely out-of-sorts. He's calm for a moment, before.

"Nuri," and his voice is hoarse. All dry and cracked and Mario knows, but he doesn't. And he needs to. The palms of his hands are black when he gets up.

Nuri's inside. Eyes closed. Back against the wall. Mario kneels down beside him. Hands touching everywhere: his shoulders, his knees, his face. He tilts Nuri's chin up. Brushes their mouths together.

"Nuri," he says. "Nuri," and he waits. His body is soft against Mario's. He's breathing and Mario can't find any burns. "Nuri."

Hand on his wrist. "I'm fine, Mario. I'm fine." Deep sigh. "It's fine."

 

They sit there, on the floor, until the lights come back on. Nuri's ankle crossed with his. He traces the seam of Nuri's jeans with alternating fingers. Small smile on his face. Palm-skin going from black to gray to white. Only when Mario's not looking, though.

"I'm sorry," he says. Again. Lost count.

Nuri shifts. Legs adjacent to Mario's. Kisses the very corner of his eye. Brushes away the black mark that fades into his hairline. "It's okay. It'll be okay."

Eventually. Foreheads pressed together.


End file.
